Definition
by Being A Wallflower
Summary: There are only two things that I can hear. The first is the crashing of the waves in the distance. The second is your breathing. - Dominique, Roxanne and why they should never let each other in. For Erin.


AN: Okay. So … haven't written in ages, so I hope this is okay. All definitions bar the last one do not belong to me. Thank you very very much to the wonderful **_Paula_** (Exceeds Expectations) for beta-ing this for me.

This is for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza, with the pairing Dominique/Roxanne and the prompts sand and wind.

_**For Erin**_ (xThe Painted Lady)

**Definition**

_Star - (n.) A fixed luminous point in the night sky that is a large, remote incandescent body like the sun._

It is dark, but the sky is clear. As I look up, I can see the stars sprayed across the night, creating thousands of patterns all at once, and at the same time, always separate.

Stars are like people. Some burn bright, oh so very bright. But those are always the stars that burn out the quickest. Other stars don't burn quite as bright, and it takes them longer before they finally fizzle out. But all stars die in the end. All people die in the end, too.

Apart from you and me, the beach is empty. Miles of golden sand stretch either side of us, as far as the eye can see. Behind, grassy dunes melt into rolling hills and the tiny lights of a village glow in the distance. In front of us, the tide rolls in, a constant motion. The sea is a dull grey expanse of unknown.

To some people, a setting like this would be romantic. But you don't do romantic – it's a pathetic excuse for love. There is either deep, passionate love or no love at all.

I'm still forming my own opinion.

We sit side by side, not touching. The sand sticks to the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands, too many grains to count. You say you love the way each grain is different, in colour and feel and shape and size, but together they make one big golden mess. A wonderful mess.

I love your sensitive moments.

_Truth - (n.) 1. The quality or state of being true: "the truth of her accusation".__  
2. That which is true or in accordance with fact or reality: "tell me the truth"._

There are only two things that I can hear. The first is the crashing of the waves in the distance. The second is your breathing. The movement of air into your chest, then the sound as it leaves your nose. Your breathing is even – you are calm.

I watch you carefully as you close your eyes and smell the air – the tangy scent of the sea mingled with the lush, lingering smell of grass. After a period of silence, one that should be uncomfortable but isn't, you look at me and speak.

"Cut the crap, Dom. Why have you brought me here?"

I bite my lip. "I thought it would be nice for us to be alone."

"And why would that be?" You're always so full of questions. I raise my eyebrows – surely, you should know the answer to this one.

"Oh."

The words fall from your lips as understanding spreads across your face. Immediately, the hardness, the guard that you always keep up, is let down. I look at the person you really are, behind the black hair and the heavy eyeliner and the nose piercing.

I see the real Roxanne.

_You – (prn.) 1. Used to refer to the person or people that the speaker is addressing: "are you listening?"; "I love you". 2. Used to refer to the person being addressed together with other people regarded in the same class: "you Australians"._

You chew your lip, and then pose a sort of strange question.

"Why do you like me? I mean, I can think of hundreds of things I like about you – your ordered thinking, your amazing eyes, the way your face lights up when you get something right … it makes sense for someone to like you, Dom. But why would someone like me? I'm just this fucked up mess on the floor that, in all honesty, nobody really gives a shit about."

I don't quite agree with you.

"I like the way you chew your lip when you're nervous, the way your hair frames your face when you turn away, your daring and your courage, and how your hard act disappears sometimes, when you really care. I can think of hundreds of things about you that I like, Rox. Really."

I don't look at you as I say this – instead I turn away, shielding my face, and hope that you don't think I'm pathetic or something.

There is another pause. It comes to a close when you murmur, "I didn't think somebody would actually like me for those sorts of things."

"Not exactly Rox. I don't just like you for those things. They make you. I like you for being you."

"Maybe I feel the same way," you mutter.  
_  
Courage – (n.) 1. The ability to do something that frightens one. 2. Strength in the face of pain or grief._

I look up again, and you do the same. The space between the two of us seems like an infinity and absolutely nothing all at once.

"I've always admired our courage and your bravery," I say. "But it's my turn now, I think. Time for me to be brave, for once."

Your eyes widen. "Oh fuck. No. Don't, Dom. You don't want to get involved with me. I'm such a mess. Don't …"

But I do. I summon all the courage that I can, because I've never been this brave before. I may never be this brave again.

And then I kiss you, and it's strange and mad but also sort of beautiful.

_Love – (n.) The way I feel about you right now._


End file.
